First Comes Love

How To Impregnate A “Pregnant” Virgin:

1. Swallow the utterly scandalous rumor that your best friend’s straitlaced younger sister is suddenly with child, even though she blushes at the mere suggestion of how babies are made!

2. Even though it’s definitely not your baby-on-the-way, offer to paint the little darling’s room (pregnant women should not sniff paint fumes or climb ladders), escort her to the doctor (or drive during rush hour) and satisfy her late-night cravings (especially if what she craves is you).

3. When your kisses explode into an undeniable need to consume and possess, sweep this woman into your steely arms…then into the bedroom.

4. Brace yourself against the shock that the “pregnant” woman you just made love to was, until moments ago, a virgin!

5. Apologize profusely for believing rampant rumors about her impending motherhood.

6. Prepare to propose when you realize that you may have just turned the rumors of her pregnancy…to truth!

Dear Reader,

Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.

The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.

First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.

So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

First Comes Love

Elizabeth Bevarly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Lori Foster and Jackie Floyd and all the other members of Ohio Valley Romance Writers who got me “pregnant” at their conference.

And for Teresa Hill, who made me write about it.

ELIZABETH BEVARLY

is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older model forty-two-footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a six-year-old son, Eli.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

One

Tess Monahan never got sick. Never.

She had documented evidence of that in the attic of the house where she’d grown up in Marigold, Indiana—the house where she continued to live alone, now that her five older brothers were on their own and her parents had retired and moved to Florida. In her attic there were boxes and boxes full of school memorabilia, one of which contained thirteen certificates for perfect attendance, from kindergarten through twelfth grade.

She just never got sick. Never.

Even during the five years she had spent at Indiana University earning her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in education, she’d never missed a day of classes due to illness or anything else. Never. Even having taught first grade at Our Lady of Lourdes Elementary School for the last four years, she hadn’t contracted so much as a sniffle to slow her down. Every single child in her class could come to school with some heinous virus, and Tess would remain hale and hearty. She just never got sick. Never.

Through every epidemic, big or small, that had hit her tiny hometown since her birth, she had remained perfectly healthy. She’d never had the chicken pox, never had the measles, never had the mumps, never had her tonsils out. She’d never run a fever. She’d never had allergies. She’d never coughed unless there was something stuck in her throat. She simply did not get sick. Ever.

Until today.

And today it was as if every single germ she had fought off in the past twenty-six years had come home to roost. With their entire bacterial families. But good.

She had awoken in the middle of the night feeling nauseated and it had only gotten worse as the wee hours of the morning wore on. She’d spent the last three hours hugging the commode, and now, as dawn crept over the horizon, she was certain she was going to die. And quite frankly, at this point—as far as Tess was concerned?—death would be a welcome diversion.

Unfortunately, death would have to wait. Because in a few short hours Tess was expected at the annual Our Lady of Lourdes teachers’ appreciation brunch. She hadn’t missed a single year, and this year would be no exception. Not just because she was adamant in meeting her obligations as an educator, but also because she would be receiving this year’s Award for Excellence in Teaching. It was an honor she was proud to receive, and she wasn’t about to disappoint her students, or her students’ parents, or the rest of the Lourdes staff, by missing the presentation.

She would be there. She would accept the award graciously, with her heartfelt thanks. It was the least she could do to show her appreciation for her students’ appreciation. Even if she did feel—and no doubt looked—like death warmed over as she extended those heartfelt thanks.

Tess groaned as she pushed herself up from the commode, then sighed as she leaned back to feel the cool tile wall through the white cotton tank she wore with her pajama bottoms. It must have been something she ate, she decided. After all, it was the middle of May, and the cold and flu season had long ago concluded. As she cupped her palm over her forehead and shoved her sweaty blond bangs out of her eyes, she realized she was burning up with fever. Whatever was assaulting her system, her body had called out every weapon it possessed to fight it. Maybe, with any luck at all, she’d feel better in a few hours.

Somehow she garnered the strength to turn on the shower, strip off her clothes and crawl under the tepid spray of water. Surely a shower, a dose of Alka-Seltzer and a few saltines would make a huge difference, she told herself. Surely the worst of her illness was over. Surely by the time she arrived at school, she’d be feeling good as new again. Surely she would live.

Surely.

Weakly, she rinsed her hair and shut off the water, then stepped out of the shower and toweled off. And although she really wasn’t able to conjure much concern for her appearance, she wanted to look as nice as she could for the brunch and award presentation. Striving for comfort over anything else, she pulled a loose-fitting, pale-blue jumper over an equally loose-fitting, pale-yellow T-shirt. Then she dragged a comb through her damp, near-white, shoulder-length tresses and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t think she had the strength to lift a hair dryer for any length of time, so she tied her hair back with a blue ribbon and ruffled her bangs dry with her fingers as best she could.

Her fair complexion was even paler than usual, thanks to her sickness, so she donned a bit more makeup than she normally would. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite cover the purple smudges beneath her eyes, so she tried to be heartened by the fact that they made her eyes look even bluer somehow. Hey, she was known for making the best of every situation, wasn’t she? Right now she’d take what she could get.

But even after completing her morning toilette, Tess continued to frown at the woman gazing back at her from the mirror. She looked like heck—as first-grade teachers at Catholic elementary schools were wont to say. There was no mistaking that she was gravely under the weather. She just hoped she could remain vertical long enough to accept her award.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Tess went immediately for the saltines, knowing she needed to put something in her stomach. She had some carbonated mineral water in the fridge, and she reached for a bottle of that, as well. Then she took a seat at the kitchen table and nibbled experimentally at her repast.

As she ate, she felt her forehead again and found that it was a bit cooler. The Alka-Seltzer must have helped some to bring down her temperature. Surprisingly, the crackers stayed down, too, and that helped some more. And the bottled water did seem to soothe her nausea to a considerable degree. Might not be a bad idea to take some with her to the brunch, though. Heaven knew she wouldn’t be consuming any of the lovely dishes she knew would be served—fruit salad, blueberry scones, crepes, eggs Benedict….

Her stomach rolled again just thinking about it, and Tess reached weakly for the entire box of saltines. No sense taking any chances.

She filched a couple more bottles of fizzy water from the fridge, then stowed her booty in a nylon lunch bag decorated with the image of Disney’s Cinderella—a gift from one of her students last Christmas. Then she tucked her bare feet into a pair of sandals, filled her oversize canvas carryall with her foodstuffs and all the necessary accoutrements of a first-grade teacher about to receive an award. Then, very gingerly, she headed for the front door.

She was just turning the knob when another wave of nausea uncoiled in her stomach. Oog, she thought. It was going to be a long—and icky—day.

Icky, however, didn’t begin to describe the morning that unfolded after that. Tess did make it to school on time, but she had to head immediately to the girls’ rest room once she got there. Worse than that, Sister Angelina, the school principal, caught her retching and encouraged her to go home and rest. Tess, however, had protested that she was feeling fine, and that her nausea was only temporary. And really, by the time she took her seat at the Reserved table beneath the speakers’ podium set up in the cafeteria, she was actually starting to feel a little better.

The events following those, however, were much less welcomed, and much more nauseating—starting with the arrival at her table of Susan Gibbs. Susan was one of the other first-grade teachers at Lourdes, and since the beginning of the school year, she had thought…had assumed…had expected…to win the coveted Award for Excellence in Teaching. And ever since the announcement last month that Tess would instead be taking home that distinction this year, Susan had been a tad cool in her reception.

Of course, Susan Gibbs had also been Tess’s rival since childhood for…oh, just about everything. Dark-haired, dark-eyed Susan had always been the perfect foil for fair Tess Monahan, as so many citizens of Marigold, Indiana, had pointed out over the years. So far, though, they were pretty well even, in wins and losses.

Tess had won the regional championship in the statewide spelling bee in sixth grade, but Susan had won the regionals in the geography bee the same year. Tess had been the jay-vee football homecoming queen when they were freshmen, while Susan had been the jay-vee basketball homecoming queen. Tess had been the yearbook editor in tenth and eleventh grades, Susan the school newspaper editor those years. Tess had been Miss June on the school calendar when they were seniors, and Susan had been Miss October.

Of course, now Tess was about to receive the Award for Excellence in Teaching and Susan wasn’t, but she didn’t for a moment feel smug about that. She didn’t. Not at all. Honest. It wouldn’t be right.

“Good morning, Tess,” Susan said as she folded herself into the chair next to Tess’s.

“Hello, Susan,” Tess replied as she shook a few saltines from the wax paper cylinder that held them. Then she pulled a bottle of carbonated water from her bag and twisted off the cap with a soft psst.

Susan noted her actions with a curious eye and frowned. “Gee, you look like heck this morning.”

Tess threw her a watery smile. “Gosh, thanks, Susan. You always know the right thing to say.”

“Sorry,” the other woman said without a trace of apology. “But you do look like heck.”

Tess just smiled a bit more waterily.

“By the way,” Susan added, “I don’t think I’ve congratulated you yet on winning the Award for Excellence this year.”

Tess had started to lift the bottle of soda water to her mouth, but halted at Susan’s comment. “No, you haven’t,”she said with a much less watery smile. Maybe Susan wasn’t going to be as snotty as Tess had assumed.

But Susan said nothing more to expound on her statement—or to offer congratulations—so Tess lifted the bottle to her lips for a brief sip. She was about to compliment Susan on her springtime-fresh, flowered dress when one of the eighth-grade student volunteers came by with a coffeepot. As Tess sipped her water, Susan automatically turned her cup up and set it in its saucer in silent invitation for the girl to fill it. When the student had finished doing so, she turned to Tess, asking if she, too, would like coffee.

In response, Tess held up one hand, palm out, then placed the other over her still-rolling stomach. “Oh, no, thank you,” she told the girl. “No one in my condition should be drinking coffee—trust me.”

Susan fairly snapped to attention at Tess’s comment. She dropped her gaze to the saltines and soda water sitting on the table before her, then to the hand Tess had placed over her stomach, then to Tess’s face. Her mouth dropped open in shock, then an evil little smile uncurled on her lips.

“Tess,” she said in a voice of utter discovery. “My gosh, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The eighth-grader who had been pouring coffee had started to move away from the table, but at Susan’s—loudly—offered assumption, the girl spun back around.

“You’re gonna have a baby, Miss Monahan?” she cried—loudly. “That’s so cool! When are you due?”

Before Tess had a chance to voice her objection, Susan replied in the voice of authority, “Well, if she’s this sick now, I imagine she’s only a month or two along. That would put delivery at…December or January. Oh, a Christmas baby!” she fairly shouted in delight. “How wonderful for you, Tess!”

Tess’s eyes widened in complete shock. Try as she might to avert the charge, she was so stunned by it, that she had no idea what to say. Unfortunately, two women at the next table turned to gape at what they had just heard, and she realized she had better say something to avert the charge, before things went any further and got too far out of hand. For long moments, though, Tess could only shift her horrified gaze from Susan to the eighth-grader to the awestricken women at the next table, and back again. And for every moment that she didn’t respond, Susan’s smile grew more menacing.

“You are pregnant, aren’t you?” she charged. “Tess Monahan, knocked up! And not married! Oh, I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you’re pregnant!” Then a new—and evidently equally delightful—thought must have occurred to her, because her menacing smile grew positively malignant. “My gosh, who’s the father? Your brothers are going to kill him!”

Only Susan Gibbs would ask such a forward, invasive question, Tess thought, the gravity of the charges being leveled against her still not quite registering in her brain. Finally, however, as she saw the two women at the neighboring table begin to chat animatedly with two others that joined them, Tess lifted both hands before her, palms out, as if in doing so, she might somehow ward off Susan’s accusation.

“I am not pregnant,” she assured both Susan and the eighth-grader who still stood gaping at her, coffeepot in hand. “It’s the flu. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, please,” Susan said indulgently, clearly not buying it. “It’s May, Tess. Nobody gets the flu in May. Admit it. You’re pregnant.”

“Then it was something I ate yesterday,” Tess said quickly. “Because I couldn’t possibly be pregnant.”

“You’ve never been sick a day in your life, Tess Monahan,” Susan countered. “I remember the Fourth of July picnic when we all ate a batch of bad potato salad, and you were the only one who didn’t get nauseated afterward. You have the constitution of a horse and a galvanized stomach to boot. Nothing has ever made you sick. Except, obviously, getting pregnant. Hey, I have three sisters with kids,” she added parenthetically, “and I’ve seen how arbitrarily morning sickness hits. I can see it downing even you.”

“It’s not morning sickness,” Tess insisted. “Because I’m not pregnant.”

She may not know exactly what it was, making her feel this way, but she knew it wasn’t…that. There was a specific activity in which one had to engage in order for…that…to happen, and Tess hadn’t engaged in it lately. Or…ever. If she was pregnant, then she was about to receive a million dollars from the National Enquirer for the story surrounding her impending virgin birth. And she’d also be getting an audience with His Holiness Himself.

No worries there.

Susan, however, was clearly reluctant to disbelieve what she considered the obvious, because she continued, “Oh, come on, Tess. You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed. It happens all the time these days. Even to good little Irish-Catholic girls like you.”

“Susan, I’m not—”

She turned, hoping to include the eighth-grader in her assurance, but to her dismay—nay, to her utter horror—the girl had wandered off to pour more coffee. Among other things. Even now Tess could see her chattering at Ellen Dumont, one of the math teachers, who immediately spun around in her chair to look at Tess with stark disbelief.

Oh, no, Tess thought. The girl might as well be broadcasting the news of her alleged pregnancy on CNN. Ellen was connected to everybody in town.

“Well, let me be the first to congratulate you,” Susan said. “Many, many, many congratulations on your upcoming blessed event.” Vaguely Tess noted that her rival was certainly capable of conjuring congratulations for a nonexistent pregnancy, if not for an actual award.

“Susan, don’t. I’m not—”

But Susan only waved a hand airily in front of herself. “Oh, your secret is safe with me,” she said. “I won’t tell a soul.”

Yeah, right. Like Tess was going to believe that.

“I just think it’s so amazing,” Susan continued with a slow shake of her head. “I mean, you’re just so…straitlaced. So upright. So forthright. So do-right. So boring,” she added adamantly, in case Tess didn’t fully grasp her meaning—as if. “I didn’t even think you were dating anyone special,” Susan added, “let alone having—”

“Susan,” Tess quickly interjected. “I’m not. I’m not dating anyone special, nor am I…doing anything else with anyone special.”

Susan gaped harder. “You mean it was a one-night stand?” she cried, even more loudly than before.

Now the women at the tables on both sides of Tess were gawking at her. And they were all looking at the saltines and sparkling water sitting on the table before her. Tess closed her eyes in mortification. Rumors in Marigold, Indiana, traveled faster than the speed of light. What was worse, though, the things piped over the Marigold grapevine almost always ended up being true. A little more embellished than usual, maybe, but still essentially true. If you heard it over the backyard fence in Marigold, Indiana, then, by golly, you could pretty much count on its reality, in one form or another.

By midafternoon, everyone in town was going to be certain Tess was pregnant. And they would be sure it had come about after some sordid one-night stand. She had to put a stop to this now.

“It wasn’t a one-night stand,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Then it was someone special,” Susan surmised.

“No, it wasn’t,” Tess insisted. “It was nobody. I’m not pregnant.”

But Susan was having none of it. When Tess opened her eyes, it was to see the other woman sitting back in her chair with a dreamy little speculative look in her eyes. “Let’s see now, who could it be…?” she murmured. “Last time I saw you out with a man, it was at the Christmas bazaar. Donnie Reesor brought you.”

“Donnie’s just a friend,” Tess said. “And you know it. And as everybody in town knows, he’s about to ask Sandy Mackin to marry him.”

Susan chuckled. “Well, this just might put a little crimp in those plans now, mightn’t it?”

Tess closed her eyes again. “Susan, please…”

“Fine,” the other woman relented. “Like I said, I won’t tell a soul. I’ll let you break the news to everyone when you’re ready. ’Course, you won’t be able to wait too long,” she added jovially. “These things have a way of…showing themselves.”

“There’s no news to break and nothing to show,” Tess said. “I—”

“Oh, but I can’t wait to see how your brothers are going to respond to the news,” Susan interrupted again. “Those Monahan boys were always ripe for a fight when we were growing up—anytime, anywhere. They’re going to pound the father of your baby once they hear.”

Although she was beginning to understand that the gesture was pointless, Tess tried one last time to deny Susan’s assertion. “Susan, there is no father,” she stated as levelly and forcefully as she could. “Because there is no baby. I’m sick, that’s all. The flu, food poisoning, something. Not pregnancy, I assure you.”

Susan leaned forward, wrinkled her nose in something akin to a smile and patted Tess’s hand. “Don’t you worry, Tess,” she said. “Your secret is safe with me. Oh, look, there’s Sister Mary Joseph. I absolutely must speak to her about a matter of grave importance.”

And before Tess could stop her, Susan Gibbs rose from the table and scrambled across the room toward a gaggle of nuns. Tess buried her head in her hands and wanted to cry. The Award for Excellence in Teaching wasn’t the only thing she would be up for today, she thought. No, by day’s end everyone would be thinking of her in terms of Mother of the Year.

Two

The mood in the third bay of Will Darrow’s Garage and Body Shop was, as always, laid-back. He had officially closed shop over an hour ago, at his usual weekday 6:00 p.m., and he relished the end of a productive day—a day of good, honest labor—like he relished nothing else in life. Cool jazz wafted from a portable CD player that sat atop the cluttered desk in the attached office, Will was sprawled beneath the chassis of a ’68 Corvette that just so happened to belong to him, and his best friend, Finn Monahan, sat leaning back in the rickety desk chair he’d pushed into the bay, enjoying a long-neck bottle of beer.